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I need to do something about her, and I know that. I’m just not sure what that something will be yet, and I have a lot of other stuff on my mind.
For instance, I need to get to school early…which means I need to be out the door in all of ten minutes.
I spend five of those in the shower, throw on some clothes, and race out the door. The student lot is practically empty when I arrive. I park the car, run to the front door, then down the hall to Parks’ classroom.
“Mr. Parks, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I have to get the weight room opened up, Devon. I was just on my way out of here. If there’s something you want to talk about, you can shoot me an email,” he says.
He starts to get up from his desk when I drop the papers in front of him.
“I think this is a chat you’ll want to have.”
He picks the papers up, scanning them, the fear visible in his eyes.
“Where did you get this?” he asks. “Did you hack into my computer? Did you take this from my house!?”
“Doesn’t matter where I got it,” I tell him.
“It sure as hell does! This is a violation of my privacy. I should call your parents!”
At this, I laugh. “Yeah, and tell them what? I should calltheirparents.”
Some sense of awareness washes over him, and he gets up from the desk, walks over to the door, and closes it.
“Most of those girls are in college now. And Maisie and I are in a relationship. She’ll be eighteen next month.”
“I don’t really care,” I tell him. “And I don’t think the school board or anyone else in the community will, either.”
“What do you want, you little shit?”
“Five thousand dollars,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Five thousand…look around, mother fucker! I’m a teacher. I don’t just have five thousand dollars!”
“Well, figure it the fuck out! It’s that, or everyone is going to find out about those messages.”
He picks the papers up off the desk again, then leans over and turns on his paper shredder, smiling as it chews them up.
Is the guy really this dumb?
“You really think I don’t have digital copies saved everywhere of that stuff? That I just handed over everything I have?” I laugh, wiping the smile right off his face.
“Fine,” he says. “Go ahead and show these to whoever you want. Who do you think they’ll believe—an esteemed coach and teacher or some degenerate kid who’s apparently part of some satanic cult?”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll find out.”
I throw my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, calling his bluff. As suspected, he stops me.
“Okay, okay…wait. Wait a second. What about two thousand?”
“Five. You have until Friday,” I tell him.
“I don’t have that kind of cash!”
“Not my problem,” I tell him. “Figure it out. Take out a loan on a credit card, sell that douchey small-dick truck in the parking lot; I don’t really give a shit where it comes from.”
“You’re going to regret this,” he says. “I’ll make sure of it.”
